


Drunk Talk

by nanasekei



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [22]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Human Disaster Tony Stark, M/M, Meet-Cute, again more like a meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: Tony gets thrown out of a strip club and talks to the bouncer. A lot.





	Drunk Talk

**Author's Note:**

> For my "Bad Flirting" square on the Happy Steve Bingo. Many thanks to Sheron for the beta and suggestions, and also to Panda and Rise for reading it over and helping me with the ending!

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony slurs into his phone, trying to enunciate every word properly. “Yeah, I’m great.”

On the line, Happy doesn’t seem convinced – damn, Tony thought he had that sober speech on lock—and, to be honest, he shouldn’t be, because Tony is not great. Tony’s right outside of this sleazy, terribly expensive strip club Hammer decided to rent for the night, and he’s very much _not_ sober. He knows that because, when he turns off the phone and rests his back against the wall and pretty much slips towards the floor, he has way less control of the movement than he thought he did, and his head slams against the wall painfully.

“Shit,” Tony says, blinking through white spots of pain. In a second a large, solid shadow looms over him. He looks up.

It’s an angel.

Okay, fine, it’s the club’s bouncer, who just dragged Tony out of the party when Hammer decided he wasn’t welcome anymore. But damn if the guy doesn’t _look_ like an angel, with those azure eyes and blonde short hair and the prettiest mouth Tony’s ever seen.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice sounding sincerely worried. Tony doesn’t answer, too busy taking in the way the man’s muscles fill out that otherwise hideously cheap-looking suit—his shoulders just go on forever, incredibly broad and apparently fighting to break through the fabric of his jacket.

The man crosses his arms, and, well, his biceps are fighting to get free too, very determinedly. Tony is rooting for them.

Angel/Bouncer keeps looking at him, and Tony realizes that, oh, yeah, that was a question, and questions usually require answers.

“I’m doing great.” He opens his arms and gesticulates towards himself. “This is not even in the top fifty of most unexpected ways I finished an evening.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him, as if he’s going to say something. He ends up just nodding, though, clasping his hands together in front of his body and eyeing Tony attentively.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Tony tries to mimick him by raising an eyebrow, but he’s not sure if he manages or if he just scrunches up his face.

“Working.”

“Wow. Not a man of many words, are you?” Tony straightens his posture where he sits, laying an elbow on his knee to watch the man carefully. “Though, coming to think of it, why would you be? With a face like that, who needs a dumb little thing like human language?”

The man flushes, which, wow. If Tony dies and goes to heaven and it turns out that’s not what angels look like, he’s asking for a transfer.

“Come ooon, cherub, talk to me.” Tony stretches out his leg, nudging the man with his foot. “What’s your name? Gabriel? Raphael? Uriel? You look like a Uriel.”

“Steve,” Angel/Bouncer (apparently now Steve) says. “Steve Rogers.”

“Wow, that’s a terrible name. You really should consider changing it to Uriel.” Tony searches his pocket for a cigarette before remembering he doesn’t smoke. “Say, Steve Rogers, you don’t happen to keep a flask on you with something nice and strong to warm you up during these night shifts, huh?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh, of course you don’t. And especially not during work, I can imagine.” Tony tilts his head to get a better look at Steve’s face. “Do you own knives at home? Because you don’t need them, with a jaw like this. Anyway. I bet you’ve never had a sip of alcohol during work in your life. You take your job super seriously, I figure, because that’s the only way anyone can put up with the likes of me and Hammer sober.”

Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, not a talker, we’ve stablished that. But I must warn you, talking is among the top three things I’m great at—number one is building stuff, and number three I’m gonna leave to your imagination.” He winks, enjoying the way Steve’s flush deepens. “God, you’re adorable. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, talking, yup, that’s my entire thing. I have a friend who tells me I say more words per minute than some people say during their whole lives. People like you, I imagine.” He nods in Steve’s general direction. “Point is, I’m gonna keep talking, so you might wanna head inside if you don’t want to hear it, sugar.”

Steve frowns. “I can’t just leave you out here.”

“Pretty sure you totally can, but this gentleman act is adorable, please keep it going.” Tony hugs his knees, resting his cheek on them as he turns his head to watch Steve. “Is that like, a thing you usually do? Look after the assholes they make you kick out?”

“You’re drunk.” Steve’s blue eyes find his, and his voice is firm when he says: “I’m gonna wait until your driver arrives.”

“God, that’s so—okay, I might swoon a little if you do that again, so let’s keep the noble act under control, ok?” He crosses his legs, the asphalt feeling cold through his pants. “Tell me about you. What do you do during daytime? Are you a model? You should consider modelling. Like, any type of modelling. I know what you’re thinking, and, yeah, _definitely_ Calvin Klein, give them a call when you can – but, also, you could be the star of one of those motivational videos. Like, the guy who looks at the camera and talks about how important it is to have an exercise routine and healthy sleep? You’d be perfect for that. I’m looking at you now, and I already want to get my life together.”

Steve seems off-put, but then his lips curl into something that Tony vaguely recognizes as a repressed laugh.

“I’m serious. You could sell those green smoothies people post on Instagram. Or quinoa. I bet you like quinoa.”

“I hate quinoa,” Steve says, and Tony raises both of his eyebrows.

“That makes you ten times hotter,” he announces, and Steve’s flush deepens and his mouth curls further. “Also, no need to answer if you don’t want to, but, by any chance, are you gay? Because, I’m gonna be honest, this mouth of yours, it’s just, just, well, let’s be real, Steve, it was _made_ to suck on something, and I’m not talking lollipops.” Steve’s eyes widen, and he lets out a shocked laugh. “Sorry, I’m kind of just thinking out loud, here. Am I making you uncomfortable? Feel free to pepper spray me at any moment.”

Steve laughs again. “No, it’s—It’s fine.”

“Great. Coming to think of it, you probably get this kind of thing all the time,” Tony makes a gesture towards where he thinks the door is, though he doesn’t look away from Steve to check. “Working here and all. No doubt some of those sleaze balls have tried to slip their numbers into your pocket. But you’re too nice to tell them off, just like you’re doing to me now. You’re such a nice guy, Steve. Also, by the way, when did your life go wrong?”

Steve’s laugh falters. “What?”

“Well, you’re working here, and you’re not a model despise looking like one, and you’re listening to me talk as if you’ve got nothing better to do, so I assume you don’t have anything interesting waiting for you at home. Besides, let’s be real, I doubt you dreamed of being a bouncer when you were little.”

Steve stays in silence for a moment, more serious than he’s been until now, until he answers: “I need money. To… to help a friend.”

“Oh, wow, how mysterious. Is your friend on the run from the law? Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“He needs a new prosthesis,” Steve says, and now his voice sounds colder.

“Oh. Oh wow.” Tony blinks at the sobering information. He’s definitely not in the right state of mind to look properly embarrassed, but that’s how he feels, deeply ashamed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m rambling over here and making jokes like…” He drags a hand over his face. Christ, what is he doing? Sitting on the street, chatting up a guy who’s working, and now probably offending him, too. He can fix this. Tony takes a sharp breath. “Where does your friend live?”

“What?”

“Ok, come to think of it, you don’t need to tell me. Just tell him to drop by the nearest Stark store. Have the manager call me and I’ll make sure he gets one exemplar of our newest line.”

Steve seems startled, blue eyes blinking and mouth opening and closing very quickly. “You can’t—Uh, Mr. Stark, you don’t need—“

Tony raises a hand. “Seriously. I know it sounds like drunk talk, and, okay, technically it _is_ drunk talk since I’m drunk and I’m, you know, talking, but I mean it. You don’t have to believe me, but at least tell your friend to give it a shot.”

Steve looks at him for a moment in silence, and Tony imagines he might still not be certain he’s serious. Well, whatever, Tony thinks. He will see it’s true if he tries. “We can’t afford any of your models.”

Tony makes a flippant gesture. “Consider it payment for not suing me for sexual harassment. And also, for your delightful company and this enriching talk we’re having.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twists upwards in a smile. “I haven’t really said much.”

“Exactly! My favorite type of talk.” Tony snaps his fingers and tries to finger gun at him, but the shape doesn’t come very naturally, so he’s pretty sure he just points two fingers randomly in Steve’s direction. “Plus, you’ve got a calming presence. You should be a yoga instructor.”

It might be the alcohol, but Tony sees a glimpse of cheekiness in Steve’s smile. “Do you think I’m flexible enough for that?”

“In my dreams you are, very much so, yes,” Tony answers immediately, and Steve laughs. “So, I’m here finding tons of new careers for you – model, life coach, yoga instructor -, but you haven’t told me what you do for a living yet.”

Steve eyes him for a moment, seeming to think.

“I teach.”

“Oh, my God.” Tony dramatically lays his hand on his chest. “No way. Like, in a classroom, wearing glasses, closing the door and going _let’s see how much you want to improve those grades_ teaching?” Steve lets out another laugh that’s half shock and half amusement, and Tony likes it. “If you say you teach math, I might swoon.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Math turns you on?”

“Math is the hottest thing in the universe and should turn everybody on.”

“…Okay.” Steve stares at him with an amused smile. “I’m an art teacher. Only extracurricular classes, though. Mostly for kindergartens.”

“Oooh. So, no hot detention threats, then.” Tony tilts his head, giving him a thoughtful glance. “You’re an _artist._ You probably spend most of your time in your cluttered apartment that smells suspiciously herbal, agonizing over finding the perfect shading for your half-done painting that takes half of the room.”

“Yeah. Exactly. That’s exactly what I do.”

“On your breaks, you write poetry. Shirtless.”

“Yup. I also used to have dreadlocks, which I shaved off,” Steve deadpans. “You’ve never met a teacher, have you?”

“Not really. Please, enlighten me about your regular schedule.”

“There’s not much to tell. I teach my class three times a week. The rest of the time I spend setting up activities for the kids. I also draw for a couple small comics, but nothing that pays much. Most of the kids’ families aren’t very well-off. Sometimes they can’t afford to pay for a few months, so I take bouncer jobs when I need extra money.” Steve puts his hands in his pockets, shifting a little under Tony’s gaze. Tony gets the feeling he’s not used to being stared at, which, wow, talk about something unacceptable. “I share my apartment with the friend I told you about. I do most of the cleaning, Buck’s a slob.” He shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.”

“I’m just gonna imagine you doing all of that shirtless, too,” Tony says, mostly just to get Steve to smile again, which he does. Score. “So you work as a bouncer to get your friend a new prosthesis, and to teach impoverished children for free?” Saying it makes his heart rush, so he needs to add, in a lighter tone: “What else do you do, multiply bread?”

“Not really,” Steve says, not missing a beat. “But sometimes I draw political cartoons. One of them went viral last month, maybe you’ve seen it.”

It’s Tony’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I don’t really spend my free time on twitter, sweetheart. What was it about?”

“Punching nazis.“

Tony nods. “Cheerful.”

“It’s an instruction manual on the right way to do it,” Steve adds, and he seems proud of himself. “How to close your fist properly so it doesn’t hurt your hand and etc.”

Tony laughs. Man, he thinks, shaking his head. Humanitarian artist by day, bouncer by night, fighter against fascism in his free time – Tony wonders, not for the first time this evening, if the man he’s talking to is actually real.

“That’s hot,” is all he manages to say. “I mean, it’s an important political stance, but also, it’s, well – it’s very hot.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks. What about you?”

“Me? Oh, well, regular stuff.” Tony waves a hand in the air. “Run a billion-dollar company, go to parties for complete jerks, get thrown out of said parties and chat up the bouncer – these sort of things.”

“Right,” Steve says, but he doesn’t seem fully satisfied. “You really annoyed Mr. Hammer.”

“Did I? I barely remember what I said. This will shock you, I’m sure, but I say a lot of things without thinking them through.”

“Well, you brought up his lawsuit right after he offered to buy you a round,” Steve says, not sounding at all disapproving. “Also, you kept calling him Jack.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs. “Maybe if he paid his employees a tenth of what he spent just with strippers tonight, I’d bother remembering his name.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling very tired. “I didn’t even want to come tonight. But Pep – she’s my P.A., so she kind of rules my life – said it’s important, that I need to keep good relations, especially now that we’re changing directions and yadda yadda.”

Steve looks at him with an expression Tony can’t quite figure out. “I read about that.”

“About the worst business decision of the decade? Yeah, you and the entire world.”

There’s a beat, and then Steve asks: “Do you regret it?”

“Not having any more dead people on my back? No, not at all,” Tony says immediately. It’s an easy answer. They could go bankrupt, and he still wouldn’t regret it. “The board freaked out, but, honestly, this doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, they need me to make the things they want to sell, and I’m not making weapons. I don’t care how much Dad loved them, I just won’t.”

Steve stays in silence for a moment. Then he turns towards Tony entirely, hands coming out of his pockets and hanging in fists at his sides. “I think it was a really brave thing to do.”

His eyes are incredibly blue, reflexing the dim light coming from the club’s windows, and, God, it’s like an attack of earnestness. Part of Tony wants to run away, and the other part wants to propose.

“Thank you?”

Steve smiles. Then he flushes, apparently realizing his strong reaction, and rubs the back of his neck. “So, why is your driver so late?”

“He’s not. He was supposed to come pick me up at three, and he’s probably catching up on his TV shows now, I don’t want to interrupt him.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “So you just sit here?” He takes his phone off his pocket. “It’s—it’s still two o’clock. You’re just going to… Sit here and wait until he comes?”

“Yeah? Sounded like a good idea, like, fifteen minutes ago,” Tony says. He yawns, his drunkenness apparently reaching its sleepy stage. His eyes feel very heavy. “No offense to our wonderful talk, but I think I might take a nap. I’d say feel free to come inside and do something more fun than standing here watching me snore, but by now I already know you’re too nice for that.”

Steve seems shocked for a moment, then he smiles slowly. “You really think that?”

“Um, yeah? I mean, come on. You're like an actual angel and you’re still somehow bashful about it. Your mean streak is apparently reserved for nazis. You’d stand there and watch over me to make sure nothing happens. Plus, you listened to me rant and hit on you endlessly, despite the fact that you probably meet about a dozen different guys exactly like me every day.”

Steve’s face softens. “No, I don’t,” he says, but it’s low enough that Tony thinks he might be imagining it.

“Anyway,” Tony yaws again, resting his back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Good talk.”

* * *

When Tony blinks his eyes open, the first thing he thinks is that he’s feeling great. Which is an unusual feeling to get after a night of drinking and sleeping on the sidewalk.

The second thing he thinks is that this is one hell of a comfortable sidewalk.

“Mr. Stark?” A voice calls. “Uh, Tony?”

He opens his eyes slowly, and realizes he’s not on the sidewalk anymore. He’s on a couch, a very comfortable one, with a very large and warm blanket – actually, it’s a jacket—over him.

A man—a very handsome man—is hovering over him.

“Uh, sorry to wake you up. It’s just, your driver is here.”

And then it hits him.

_Wow, that’s a terrible name. Number three I’m gonna leave to your imagination. This mouth of yours, it’s just, just, well, let’s be real, Steve, it was made to suck on something. Math is the hottest thing in the universe. When did your life go wrong?_

Tony drags a hand over his face, mind going through the litany of terribly embarrassing things he had said.

“Kill me,” Tony thinks aloud, and Steve raises his eyebrows. Tony turns around, doing his best to not stare at Steve’s face – Jesus, he talked about his _mouth,_ that’s just… “Where am I?”

“In the break room,” Steve says, and that only makes Tony’s face flush with more embarrassment, because, God, Steve was _working._ He was having a regular night until Tony swooped in to be entirely inappropriate and freak him out. It’s an actual miracle, and a testament of Steve’s niceness, that Tony didn’t wake up in a police station with a restraining order.

Then Steve takes the jacket off him, slipping it over his own (very broad) shoulders.

It’s—It’s his jacket. That he gave Tony to keep him warm.

Tony’s face is _burning._

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, when Steve tries to help him stand. “God, I’m so – so, _so_ sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. That’s—shit, ok, I wished I could say that’s so unlike me, but it’s not unlike me at all, to be honest.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Still, you didn’t deserve that.

Steve just stares at him and then smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I had a nice time.”

He sounds so sincere Tony’s mental self-flagellating stops for a moment, and there’s a beat as they stare at each other, before Steve coughs.

“Uh, your driver,” he says, and Tony stands up suddenly.

“Of course.”

“Don’t forget your phone.” Steve turns to pick it from a table, handing it to him. “It fell out when I was carrying you.”

He probably means carrying Tony like one would regularly carry a drunk person (i.e. practically dragging them), but of course Tony’s stupid head has to imagine a bridal carry or something, and it feels like a bunch of engines twirl happily in his stomach. God, he’s pathetic.

“Right,” he says, taking the phone and placing it in his pocket. “Thank you, and, again, I’m so sorry.”

Steve nods, his face flushing strangely, but when Tony turns to leave, he grabs his arm.

“Actually, I’m—“ Steve stammers, seeming more nervous than he looked all night, even when Tony was waxing lyrical about his dick-sucking lips. “I might, uh, have programmed my number in there.”

It feels like the world shifts at Tony’s feet, for a moment. “What?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. “Like I said, I had a nice time. It was really fun.” His smile grows, and he shifts a little. “I’d really like to see you again. But, uh, if you think maybe that’s too forward—“

“ _Too forward?_ You think _you_ may be being a little too forward? _”_ Tony says incredulously, trying to fight the huge grin that’s threatening to slip out at every word. “Did you hear a single word I said last night?”

Steve laughs. His laugh sounds even more amazing when Tony can hear it without the mist of alcohol. “I liked hearing it,” he says, shrugging. Then his smile gains that cheekiness, and, damn, it might be the first time in his life Tony met someone who looks better _without_ alcohol goggles. “Wouldn’t mind hearing some more.”

“Well,” Tony says, a little high-pitched and less suave than he’d like, but he doesn’t really care. He slides his hand into his pocket, playing with his phone, fiddling with it as if it’s the most interesting object in the world, because, with Steve’s number in it, it totally is. “I’m never one to refuse talking.”

Steve’s smile is large and brighter than the sun. “I figured.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ngl, I had so much fun with this one. Oh, Tony.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos warm my heart. And as always, you can [reblog the fic here](http://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/post/180635569730/drunk-talk-nanasekei-marvel-cinematic-universe).


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